Dark Tales 1: Dark Dance
by LA Knight
Summary: Tiberiu Bercovitz, hunting vampires and other predators in the concrete and steel wilds of New York City, is unprepared for his meeting with the silent dancer, Blanche Cygnet.
1. Prologue

**Dark Tales  
Book One**

**Dark Dance**

**Prologue  
New York City**

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The night lay utterly still. Darkness, lightened by the ambiance of streetlights and the dim twinkling of the stars overhead, hung tense over New York City. Car horns, chatter, the rumble of traffic, the cooing of pigeons, all served to shatter what would have been a waiting silence. Follow the moonlight, the only old, pure light to be had in the Big Apple, out towards Central Park. Amongst the midnight-shrouded trees, the wind rustled and whispered, and the moonlight danced, glad to be far away from the bullying electric shrieks of the city's lights. The air seethed with menace. The soil beneath a great oak tree rippled.

Tiberiu Bercovitz burst through the rich, dark soil in the middle of Central Park, feeling the night air caress his face, the wind whisper to him. It meant nothing. He felt the sensation, and vaguely remembered that as a boy, it had given him pleasure. Once, the wind had tugged at him like a pet, urging him to come and play. No longer.

Now it was only a wisp of memory. Like his two older brothers, Sebastian and Rajmund. Like his younger brother, Dimitri.

Like his friends... Julian and Aidan Savage, Marius Valentin, his old friends Radu and Cassius, the twins Stefano and Sonia Dragonseeker... he remembered that Sonia Dragonseeker had disappeared when her aunt, Rhiannon, had as well, and her mother Liliana had been killed. Sonia's uncle, Dominic, and his twin brother David. The seven Corbeau brothers who had been close to the Bercovitzes - Kristoff, Leopold, Carlisle, Donovan, Leander, Theodore, and Edmund. So many friends slipping away... he had no idea what had happened to his older brothers, or Marius, or Stefan. Julian and Aidan had lifemates. Dimitri had his wolves in the icy wastes of Russia. But what did he have? He, Tiberiu?

The ancient warrior had his not inconsiderable skills with weapons. He had the form of the great, black swan and the snowy owl to escape into at times. Tiberiu retreated to them often, to avoid the rising darkness within him. And he had the feeling that he needed to stay, here in this human city, in Central Park, because somewhere in New York was someone who needed his help desperately.

Every once in a while, he would catch a glimpse of brightness, the bright green of a leaf, the dull copper orange of a street lamp, the brilliant scarlet of the Broadway musical advertisements. Then he would know that she, the lady of light, was near. But always, always... she slipped away. He would call for her, search the crowded streets of New York, but there would be no face lit with color, dazzling with its beauty. No mind reached out to his mental touch. The Carpathian was no longer even sure that these strange flashes were to his benefit – sometimes the beast within him seemed stronger, angrier, crueler, after he caught those fleeting glimpses of color.

A sharp crack, like a breaking bone, jerked the ancient hunter out of his almost melancholic reverie towards the sound. A great, snowy white owl with raking talons exploded out of Tiberiu's body into the night without conscious thought from the warrior, taking flight. He flew straight, towards newer sounds of struggling and a man's muffled cry of pain.

_Help me! Help! Someone! Ow! You jerk, I'll kick your ass!_

The ancient Carpathian's eyes widened inside the form of the owl as he heard the raging female voice. It was purely mental, and lacked any strength to carry it to anyone sensitive enough to come to the woman's rescue. But that was no issue. He, Tiberiu, would come to the human's rescue instead. Inside him, the demon roared his pleasure and anticipation.

Tiberius shifted back into his true form, tall and broad shouldered and powerful, a dark Carpathian warrior, and was nearly blinded by the shocking crimson of the blood splashing the ground.

Crimson... he could see the color of the blood. Not just the blood, but the young woman on the ground, no older than twenty-one, twenty-two, in bright blue spandex shorts and a bright lavender leotard of all things, kicking with powerful legs at the faces of her attackers. Her right arm was bleeding sluggishly. The blood stained the stretchy, purple fabric of her outfit a dark maroon. Her face was white and scrunched, her teeth sinking into her lip, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

In his mind, Tiberiu heard her screaming for help as she struggled against her attackers, but she did not open her mouth as she kicked and struggled to escape. From her terrified mind, he picked up the fact that they were trying to kill her. Why, he could not see, but it did not matter. Rage filled him at the thought of them hurting her, red rage, just as blindingly scarlet as her blood upon the ground and against her pale skin. There was blood on one slender, white foot – bare of its torn, flesh-colored slipper, which lay a few feet away from the scuffle – but the Carpathian could smell that it was not her blood. One of her attackers' face was drenched in crimson.

A cold, vicious satisfaction filled the warrior. So, she had managed to get in a good kick or two. The human's nose was most likely broken. Excellent.

Moving too quickly to be perceived, the ancient warrior lunged for the two men and quickly, efficiently, snapped their necks. They sagged to the ground, dead. The woman got to her feet, scooping up a pale blue bag with dark blue ballet slippers embroidered on the side. She stared at Tiberiu, who was shocked to see she had golden eyes.

Colors. He was seeing colors. The blue and purple of her clothes and bag, the tawny gold of her eyes, the dark brown like mahogany of her hair... the crimson of her blood from two shallow slash wounds across her collar bone and a deep cut on her arm. That meant only one thing: she was his lifemate. This woman, in her shiny spandex, clutching her shoe bag and looking frazzled as the wind whipped her auburn hair into her mouth, was his other half, the missing part of his soul. He had found her at last. Greedy for her, the Carpathian drank in every detail of her face with his eyes. She had a tiny mole above her right eyebrow. It was positively adorable. Her eyes reminded him of whiskey by the fire, of lion's eyes. This was his lifemate. His _lifemate_.

Without conscious thought, the Carpathian moved to stand in front of the woman, looking into her wide, fearful eyes. He leaned down, inhaling the scent of her blood. Her swiftly drawn breath told him he would need to tread carefully. Whispering gentle words in her mind, the warrior stretched out his tongue and deliberately traced the two slashes on her collar bone, healing them. Then he stepped back.

One shaking hand touched her throat, over the knobby protrusions of her clavicle. Jenny shivered. The strange man who had so casually murdered her attackers had licked her. A line of fire burned her skin in the wake of that liquid caress. So far, this man was tallying up with what she'd heard from Cordelia.

"_They'll come out of the night, a hunter and warrior, ready to defend to the death. Faster than the eye can see, with a kiss and a touch that can heal even the most painful wounds...."_

Maybe her friend had been right. Maybe the Carpathians _were_ real. But then... why now? Why not before?

Tiberius watched the woman as she watched him. Clearly terrified out of her mind still, he kept that in mind as he slowly began to approach her again, holding out one hand in a courtly, Old World gesture. Watching her face, he spoke aloud.

"Are you all right?"

A red ponytail with a brown oak leaf caught in it bobbled up and down as she nodded. Obviously, the mortal did not consider her injuries to be anything serious. The gash on her arm still bled steadily, however. Black eyebrows furrowed as Tiberiu considered the wound.

"What is your name?"

Instead of answering, she pursed her lips and shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. Curious, he sent a tiny probe against the outermost layer of her mind. Suddenly, he could see her name in his head. Blanche Cygnet. Her friends, for some reason, called her Jenny. She had two sisters, four brothers. Dancing was her love, her life. Making children's clothes on the side was the easiest way she'd found to pay what bills her dancing wages didn't cover, as she was not a prima ballerina. Wide, darting eyes showed that the woman was frightened almost beyond the breaking point.

Tiberiu's heart ached for her. She looked so young and fragile... she was shaking, breathing shallowly....

He opened his mouth to tell her to breathe slower when she collapsed into his arms. Taken aback, Tiberiu caught her slight form and lifted her easily into his arms, cradling her tight to his chest. Nose and lips pressed against her hair, the ancient one inhaled the scent of floor polish, chalk dust, silk, sweat, and hairspray covering her natural scent. For a long, long moment, the warrior only held her, still in shock. He held his lifemate in his arms. The only woman for him. His lifemate. He'd finally found her.

Quickly scanning her mind, he found the location of her little studio apartment and began to make his way there.

.

.

**Author's Note:** So that's the revamped prologue. Hope you liked it. It was a little too short to begin with, not even 700 words. Now it's 1602, not counting the author's note or title. I revamped the whole story, made each chapter longer, tried to make the characters more believable and stuff. Because I'm trying to keep this T, there isn't as much sexuality as is normally found in the Feehan novels, especially the early ones. We also have a heroine with a history of sexual abuse. So the fire will be on the low level for right now.

Anyway, hope you like. Reviews make me happy.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing copyrighted by anyone who isn't me. The whole Jenny thing I got from the book _Daughter of the Forest_ by Juliet Marillier. The main character's name is Sorcha, but because she cannot speak, the man who ends up marrying her calls her Jenny. The storyline for this fanfic is based on the fairy tale _the Wild Swans. _I noticed that Dimitri and Skyler reminded me of _Little Red Riding Hood_, borrowed the fairy tale them, and ran off with it.


	2. Chapter One

**Dark Tales  
Book One**

**Dark Dance**

**Chapter One  
Paris**

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.

Skyler Daratrazanoff stared at the glass she-wolf and cubs on her bedside table as she counted seconds and pulled on her blue slippers. They weren't bedroom slippers, but slip-on flats, ballet style. Her mother, Francesca, had given them to her for her last birthday. They matched her cobalt tunic and the eyes of her wolf charm. Instead of the pants many of the once-human women enjoyed wearing, she wore an ankle-length black skirt that she'd borrowed from Francesca. All together, the seventeen-year-old showed about as much skin as a nun, and she was happy with the outfit.

Grabbing a hairbrush, she hastily ran it through her long, blond hair. No longer raggedly chopped, it fell like a sheer, golden curtain down her back. It was long enough now that she could hide behind it easily.

Movement. Sensation. A whisper like a shadow against the barriers around Skyler's mind. The teenager would've jumped if that brief, psychic touch weren't so familiar. She recognized Francesca announcing her presence, so as not to frighten the girl.

"Skyler?"

The blond girl turned towards the tall, elegant woman standing in the doorway to her room. She even smiled briefly at her adoptive mother. But the nerves were too much, and the smile slipped away quickly.

"Are you well, dear one?" Francesca asked gently.

"Yes," she mumbled, looking away. Her face was slowly coloring pink. She didn't want her mother to know how nervous and – though she'd never admit it – how excited she was that Dimitri was on his way to Paris. He and her parents were going to accompany her on the Dark Troubadours tour, along with Lucian and Jaxon, Ginny, Joseph, and Paul. Their first stop would be New York City, somewhere the teenager had never been. Neither, she had recently found out, had Paul or Ginny. She wasn't certain about her friend Joseph.

"What's wrong with your arm, Skyler?"

The seventeen-year-old started in surprise as she realized she was rubbing her left arm as if it hurt. For a moment, she thought she saw blood dripping down her arm, but when she blinked, there was nothing. Usually, when evil lurked nearby, her wrist ached, burned, as if vampire blood had splashed on it. The girl had discovered several months ago that as a small girl, she'd been fed upon by the enemy of all Carpathians, the grand master vampire known as Xavier, and his unwilling slave – and her biological father – Razvan. Now that Razvan had been saved by his lifemate, the long-missing Ivory Malinov, and the great healer of the Carpathians, Skyler's uncle, Gregori Daratrazanoff, he was back in the young woman's life, though in a far more positive role this time. As she had no memories of him from when she had been the slave of Xavier, this was easier for her than for some of the others who might have been in the same position.

"Skyler?" Francesca prompted again. The Carpathian woman called downstairs to her husband, _Gabriel, _s_he is on edge, nervous._

_It is that werewolf._

_No, Gabriel. I do not think so. I feel there is something else. No danger, something else. Almost like a memory. It is only masked by Dimitri's presence coming closer and closer. Something else is distracting her. She rubs her arm as if it pains her, but I sense no injury, no phantom wounds._

Immediately, Francesca felt Gabriel's strong arms around her, even though he had not moved from his position reclining on the leather armchair in the living room. In her mind, her lifemate replied, _I am on guard, Francesca. And though he wishes to steal away our daughter, I trust the wolf man to see to her well-being and safety while he is here. Speak to Skyler._

"_Bebe,_ are you well? You are frowning. Have you a headache? And you are still massaging your arm. Have you hurt yourself?"

"I... I don't know... I'm not sure. But...."

Her head was buzzing, but her heart wasn't pounding in her chest the way it would if a vampire were nearby. She didn't know what was going on. Her stomach cramped. Was it Dimitri's presence, coming ever closer? Suddenly, the blond girl wished she hadn't invited him. But then her mind was wrenched firmly away from thoughts of Dimitri as a face filled her mental vision – dark brown hair to her shoulders, tawny eyes, and pale lips pursed in stubborn silence – but it couldn't have been... Blanche?

"I...." Skyler began. "I think..."

The image of a young swan, its left wing splattered with crimson blood stark against the snowy plumage, filled her mind....

_It swam on a lake in the middle of a forest. On the shore, a white swan wearing a golden chain and a black swan wearing a silver chain lay sleeping in a nest. A great, black bat with crimson eyes flew over the lake, swooping down to attack the wounded swan, but a great, ebony-plumed cob trumpeted a battle cry and flew towards the bat, eyes fierce, jet black wings sweeping to buffet the attacker...._

And then she was back in her room with Francesca, Gabriel, and...

"Dimitri!"

Ice blue eyes like a wolf's thawed to warm, twin sapphire flames in his handsome face as the great Carpathian hunter murmured, "My greetings, little one." And in her mind, the half-whispered endearment in his adopted language, his voice husky and warm like fur -

_Lyubof maya._

_._

_._

_._

**Author's Note:** Yes, I'm revamping this fanfic. I hope you like my improvements. I wanted to make it more like the novels – getting glimpses of other people and other couples, more danger of vampires, references to others, stuff like that. Anyway, I hope you like the new version. Storyline is basically the same, however. Reviews make me weep for joy.


	3. Chapter Two

**Dark Tales  
Book One**

**Dark Dance**

**Chapter Two  
New York City**

_._

.

Tiberiu raced through the night. The brilliant lights of the city nearly blinded him with their plethora of hues – crimson, neon lime, amber, honey gold, hot star blue. The wind brought with it a million odors. The buzz of human conversation below brushed his sensitive ears. And in his arms, her skin like hot silk against him, her hair a shimmering waterfall spilling across his arm, was the other half of the Carpathian's soul. Tiberiu cradled her gently to his chest, reveling in the knowledge that held so carefully in his arms was the one woman who would save his soul.

As the ancient warrior sprinted through the blazing city, he allowed his newly recovered emotions to wash through him. First and foremost in his heart was joy – mind blowing, all consuming joy. He had a lifemate! For so long, he had assumed that his other half had perished in the wars against the Ottoman Turks that had decimated the Carpathian people. Though unable to feel emotion by the time he had come to this conclusion, if he'd been able to give up hope, he would have. Yet now... now here she was, his lifemate, safe and alive and so real in his arms. His piercing blue eyes drank in every inch of her as she unconsciously curled against him, seeking him even in her oblivion.

_Oh, lyubof maya...._

He made it to Marillier Street, where Jenny – such a beautiful name! - lived in her tiny apartment. Shifting her familiar weight in his arms, the ages-old hunter pushed the door to the little home open and froze in shock for a long moment. Tiberiu could only stand there, blinking stupidly at the squalor his lifemate had been living in.

Jenny made a little noise, jerking the hunter out of his stupor.

The Carpathian strode in, closing the door behind him, and laid his precious burden down upon a small pile of blankets, the only type of bed in the little apartment. There was no normal furniture in the apartment – only the pile of blankets, a great loom for weaving and an old fashioned spinning wheel, a tall black lamp and a smaller desk light, a wardrobe, and a long bar placed a few feet off the ground, seven inches from the dingy wall. There wasn't even a microwave or a chair. The apartment was incredibly small, with a tiny toilet and a shower about four square feet. There was a fridge shorter than Tiberiu's waist, a shallow and rust-marked sink, and a two-burner stove. It had one window, in the wall opposite the door, and a scuffed linoleum floor.

A sick sense of shame filled him. His lifemate was living in this squalor? Why was he not with her, providing for her? A true warrior could have provided much better for his woman. Well... he was here now.

He turned back to her, shoving his thick, black hair from his face. She looked so tiny and frail amidst that pile of blankets. And it was February, in New York. The place was freezing, yet she had no heater. Did she have a cooling system for the sweltering summers? Did she have _anything_?

_Who are you?_ Her mental voice stirred in his brain, soft and full of hurt. Of course – her wounds. Tiberiu moved towards her, was at her side in an instant. He bowed from the waist, an Old-Worldly gesture, something that should have been impossible while he knelt beside her, and replied, "Tiberiu Bercovitz, little one. And you are?"

_Jenny._

He tasted the truth – and the lie – in her mental voice. He quickly scanned her surface thoughts. Yes, her name was Jenny, Jenny Sevenwaters. But she didn't claim that name for herself, it was merely the name on her birth certificate. She called herself Blanche Cygnet. That was her stage name, the name she held in her heart. Still... she had not given him leave to call her by that name, so he would not – yet.

"Will you allow me to heal your wounds, Jenny?"

The frail, human woman shook her head and got to her feet slowly, moving as if her entire body ached. She lifted one leg and flexed it, grimacing at the tightness in her shin and calf muscles. Then the pale woman went to the wardrobe and pulled out a small, gold-gilt box. Flipping the lid up, the sound of tinkling music filled the apartment as she pulled out a spool of shining thread, a thin needle, a roll of bandages, and two tubes of ointment.

"You will not scar or feel anymore pain if you allow me to heal you my way," he told her. She glanced at him dismissively, and something close to anger curled in his belly. How dare she treat him thus? As if she knew things he did not? Why would his lifemate dismiss him so casually, as if he were nothing?

But now his other half checked the long, glistening wound on her arm, probing it with her fingers. She didn't even wince. Everything in him cried out to help her, to go to her and take away her pain, but he found himself rooted to the spot. It was her. She was doing something to him – the hunter could feel it. This woman, the other half of his soul, must have been a terribly powerful psychic, if she could hold him in place this way. But why would she do this? And how was she doing it?

"Do you like pain?" He demanded almost desperately.

_I am a dancer. Pain is my life. Every day, I return home with my legs in agony, exhausted and nearly sick with hunger. I am forbidden speech- I have never cried out since I was a child, no matter what pain I have felt. I do not feel pain as you do. I ignore it, and it disappears._

As she said this, she put aside the needle and thread and pulled at the neckline of her spandex, peeling it from her body to reveal a tight, black sports bra and crisscrossed scars on her skin. Tiberiu's body clenched hard at the sight of those pert breasts cupped by the black cotton. She spat on a piece of bandage and used it to wipe away the dried blood.

"You should cleanse that with hot water and medicine."

_Do not lecture me, snarly male. I am not afraid of infection. _

_Surreptitiously, Blanche glanced at the man in her apartment from beneath her thick lashes, grateful that years of working with the place had given her safeguards and wards built into the very foundations and rafters and walls of the place, strong enough to hold him. She wasn't sure yet if he was a vampire or the other kind, the race Cordelia had told them about, but she didn't want to risk being vulnerable to anyone. _

_Never again , she swore to herself silently. Though her senses told her that this man, with his rugged handsomeness and his melancholy blue eyes, was no danger to her, and in fact made her heart beat like a hummingbird's wings, she did not want to risk it._

"You ought to take care of yourself better."

Tiberiu tasted the air around him with his senses. There was deep, old power here. The ways of it were ancient, and the layers of magic here were years of work woven in the concrete and steel of the place. Looking at Blanche as he got a feel for the power, the ancient warrior realized that Blanche had mage-potential. She either was a mage, or carried the abilities of a mage without training. The entire apartment was a giant, haphazard safeguard. Parts of it were defensive, others offensive. He was held in place even as the room breathed against his senses, _Nothing there. Pointless to look. Why bother? Nothing there. Whatever._

"Did you not hear me?" The warrior demanded as if he were not slowly trying to pull the magic holding him in place apart with the sheer force of his will. "You ought to care better for yourself. Continue this way, and you will become ill."

_I **said**, do not lecture me._

He did not know what to make of her. He'd never met a woman like her. She was trembling with fear, with pain and fatigue, but she dressed her wounds and then proceeded to stitch up the tear in her sleeve where she had been cut. Tiberiu was grateful – he did not think he would have been able to bear it if his lifemate had begun applying stitches to herself when he could have used his healing saliva to heal the injuries completely.

"I apologize for upsetting you," Tiberiu replied to her mental retort. Her voice – he longed to hear her physical voice. But even her psychic voice was soft, gentle, like the wind among the leaves, zephyrs rippling against water.

_But not for lecturing me._

Her sharp comeback had him smiling for some bizarre reason he could not have identified. Why did the warrior suddenly have the almost undeniable urge to laugh? There was hardly anything amusing in the situation, and yet assuredly there was a laugh bubbling up in his chest. Knowing that his woman would be angry if he laughed, he managed to keep his mirth to himself.

"You are very wise."

_Thank you. Now, I thank you for saving me. But you will leave my home now, or I will call the police._

"But... but I am your lifemate," he replied, suddenly baffled. Call the police? On him? Never mind that he was an ample match for any human law enforcement she might try to call. Why would she call them in the first place? Did she not feel the pull of lifemates, the bond between them? Tiberiu was utterly out of his depth. He had no idea how to respond to Blanche and her cold indifference to him. His first reaction was anger, anger at the idea that she would turn to others for aid and not to him, but the overwhelming fear in her was enough to give him pause, and confuse him even further. "Surely," he added. "Surely you feel it just as strongly as I."

_It? Blanche deliberately injected frigid ice into her voice. She knew what he meant – the lifemate thing. But the dancer knew that the whole principle could spell big, big trouble for her and her siblings if she gave into it. She had to get this hunter out of her apartment and out of her life as soon as possible, or everything would go straight to Hades. Luckily, he wasn't injured, or she would've felt compelled to help him. But he was just there, larger than life, and twice as intimidating. He had to go._

"Yes. The call of lifemates, one to another. We are lifemates. You are my lifemate."

_I am nothing of yours,_ she said.

Her heart cracked, but she ignored it.

His heart shattered, and he could not.

.

.

.

**Author's Note:** Like I said, beefing up the chapter. Now, the character of Blanche is both an homage to and descended from a character in another fandom. Read _the Sevenwaters Trilogy_, it rocks my socks. Anyway, Jenny Sevenwaters is descended from Sorcha of Sevenwaters (called Jenny) from the book _Daughter of the Forest_ by Juliet Marillier. But _Daughter of the Forest_ is set in like, 400 AD, and this is obviously post 2009 since this is after _Dark Slayer_ which came out in September of 2009. Anywho, enjoy!


	4. Chapter Three

**Dark Tales  
Book One**

**Dark Dance**

**Chapter Three  
New York City**

.

.

_I am nothing of yours._

Tiberiu's knees buckled, and he sank to the ground. How could she say such a thing to him? How? He was her lifemate... the other half of her soul. Did she not care? Did she care nothing for him? Did she hate him? How could she? Why would she? They had only just met – what could he possibly have done that would anger her so? That she would reject him?

Blanche, small and in pain and tired after a day at the theatre, watched the Carpathian from the corner of her eye, trying to ignore the way her heart screamed at her to comfort him as he quietly fell to pieces. So Cordelia had been right – there were such things as Carpathians in the world. After years of disappointment, she had been beginning to doubt her old friend.

Amaranth, she of the long, flowing hair like a silken river, the guardian and morale booster from the young woman's childhood, had told Blanche and her companions stories as they were falling asleep after being brutalized by so many vicious men, but it was the one story that Cordelia, their unofficial but acknowledged leader, had sometimes told, that thrilled their hearts. That was the story about the Carpathians.

This story, this epic tale of hope and salvation, was the story of a dark and mysterious race from far away, in wild, snowy mountains. In the mountains, wild with dark forests and icy snows and dangerous mountains full of rocky cliffs, there were many noble men, great hunters and warriors, defenders of women and children in need. They were searching, desperately searching, for the group of young girls trapped in a hellish nightmare. These heroic men would take them away from their personal circle of hell and raise them, treat them like princesses, and then, when the girls were old enough, get down on bended knee and propose so romantically and sincerely that the girls knew they'd have to marry the men of their dreams.

They'd all be happy, having children and living in a beautiful mansion together, forever and forever. It was their special, secret fairy tale that they prayed every night was real.

Riiiiight. And hippos danced ballet with alligators in real life as well as in animated musicals from Walt Disney.

Not.

This warrior, this Carpathian male, Tiberiu Bercovitz, was supposed to have rescued her long ago. Rescued her from having her body sliced up, burned, beaten, fondled, raped... and the bastard had the gall to stand here now and profess to be her lifemate? To claim there was some mystical connection between them and so he had every right to expect her to welcome him to her apartment with open arms and big smiles? Without so much as an apology? Hurt and anguish poured off of her. Why hadn't he come to her then and there, back when she'd been in need of him? Back before she'd gotten her life together? Why had he left her to suffer? Did he think she'd deserved it? Was she not worthy of him then?

So no, she didn't hate him, but she didn't want him in her life, not at all. He didn't... he hadn't... well, it didn't matter, those kinds of things. She was Blanche Cygnet, Jenny of Sevenwaters. She had managed to look after her four younger brothers – Finbar, Merrik, Galen, and Peter – until the day they... and she paid her sisters' medical bills and currently danced as Gerda in _the Snow Queen_ and was auditioning for the part of Odile and Odette, desperate to get either one... she needed no Carpathian to look after her.

She needed no one, period, to look after her.

Tiberius could not seem to move from the spot. It was as if his despair rooted him to the ground, as if his aching sorrow sucked so much life and vitality from him that he had not the energy even to move a single inch. The anguish was pouring off of him now. It gave the room a thick, bitter taste.

Blanche saw this, felt this, and sighed. The look on his face tugged at her heart. Against her will, she felt a small bit of sympathy bubbling up in her stomach. Or maybe it was indigestion. The cynical part of her wished this was so, but the tears burning in her eyes at the sight of the powerful, predatory hunter looking so dejected and despairing told her otherwise. The dancer sighed.

_Mr. Bercovitz, I am sorry, but I must ask you to leave. I do not seek to be the lifemate of anyone. I just want to be left alone, to my own devices. Please, I am politely asking you to leave me alone and let us both go our separate ways. You will surely find another woman, one who is more suited to fulfilling your needs. Now please, stand up and remove yourself from my apartment._

"Jenny... I cannot leave you thus. You are in danger. What if more men come to do you harm? It is my duty and privilege to protect you – "

_I don't need protection! If you didn't want me then, you can't have me now. Now get out of my apartment!!_

And she leapt to her feet and stepped into the colossal wardrobe, shutting the door behind her. The sounds of rustling clothes and flesh hitting wood sounded for several moments, and then she walked out, the epitome of dignity. She'd changed into pajamas – a loose, aqua green tank top, he could see it, and the shiny, sea green of the trim on the straps, and a pair of loose, black cropped pants. She was cuter than a four-week-old kitten.

But what had she meant by "if you didn't want me then?" When? He had only laid eyes on her this night, less than an hour ago. Or was he wrong? Had she seen him, felt him nearby, at some time in her life? Had he missed the signs? Or was she so young that they weren't there – the emotions, the colors?

_Why are you still here? Get out. Or I'll hit you in the eyes with Mace._

"You're a violent one, aren't you?" He demanded. "Hit me in the eyes with Mace? I am your lifemate, you cannot do such a thing."

_Can and will_, _buddy. I have to do some barre and stretching and I don't want an audience, so go away._

As she said this, she sank gracefully into a full split, so that her crotch and the insides of her thighs were flush against the floor. She leaned forward without moving her legs and pressed her nose to the floor in front of her before reaching behind her back with her hands and twisting her arms in their sockets, stretching them. Tiberiu could hear her counting in her head, _One and two and three and four and five..._ All the way until twenty.

When she straightened up and saw him watching her from his knees on the ground, she scowled. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. Why was he staring at her like some kind of freak stalker? She had pepper spray somewhere in her shoe bag. Maybe she should get it out. The admiration in his eyes made her shiver, pulled goosebumps out of her skin. The brunette tried to tell herself that she didn't want him there, but the interest in his eyes gave her the shivers, and not in a bad way. This only served to irritate her further.

_What part of "get out of my damn apartment" didn't you understand, you bloodsucking corpse?! Holy crow! _

"Blood sucking corpse?!" He repeated in an offended voice. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

_It means get out of my apartment, Fang-face, before I get pissed off. How many times do I have to say it? What do you want me to do, sic the rabid duckies on you?_

"I wish to see this... bar and stretch."

_Not bar and stretch, **barre** and stretch. What, you want to be my ballet coach now?_

"I wish to watch you. I have never seen you dance. I wish to know if you are any good."

Without deviating from the position she was currently in – flat on her stomach, her legs arching backwards over her rounded bottom so that the tips of her toes touched her head (also leaning backward over her spine) at the hairline – she grabbed a pillow in her left hand, easily transferred it to her right, and hurled it at him as hard as she could.

Irritatingly, she missed. Her arm protested her actions by seizing up in mid-throw, totally screwing up her aim. Blanche snarled inwardly and directed the ire in her thoughts towards the man beside her door.

_I am the best ballerina of my age group there is in my troupe. Know why? Because unlike most of those twits, I practice six days out of the week, instead of five. If you were_ really_ my lifemate, you'd know this because you'd have been looking for me and found me ages ago, and been able to see me dance. I have the lead in the current show we're doing._

She couldn't help the small note of pride in her voice. Gerda's dance was difficult – she'd never had to choreograph her own fight scene before. But the director had left it up to her and Meghan O'Neil to choreograph the fight between the Thief Girl of Autumn and the main character. That had never happened in the seven years she'd been dancing ballet.

"That is truly a great accomplishment, _sivamet_. I am indeed proud of you."

_Go kiss a pig,_ she replied, feeling a small, warm glow in her chest. Irritated, annoyed that she was letting him get to her, she quickly twisted her body into a pretzel and tucked her chin against her chest so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"I would rather kiss you," Tiberiu replied, smiling a little, when someone knocked on the apartment door and called in an official sounding voice, "Open up. Police."

He heard her heart begin to thunder, her fear to spike.

Tiberiu Bercovitz rose to the killing edge as the demon in his chest roared for release.

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**Author's Note:** okay, just beefing up chapters and explaining why Blanche is like "ew, Carpathians" more in-depth. Also giving her a deeper bond with Tiberiu. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

**References:** For those who don't know, Gerda is the main character of the story _The Snow Queen._ And though most of you know Odette from T_he Swan Princess_, she's actually the main character of the ballet _Swan Lake_. And Odile is the black swan (aka, the Fake Odette from the cartoon).


	5. Chapter Four

**Dark Tales  
Book One**

**Dark Dance**

**Chapter Four  
New York City**

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_I did not call for the police, Tiberiu, _Blanche murmured.

She contacted him without thinking about it, reaching out to him as fear began surging up in her chest. The sensation of her thoughts sinking into his mind, of him reaching out to calm her fears, made her stomach do a curious little flip she both hated and wanted to giggle over at the same time.

The Carpathian warrior could now hear a feathering of fear in the undercurrents of her mental voice. It was faint, but it was there. Red rage suddenly pulsed to life inside the vampire hunter. She didn't strike him as one to be afraid without need. She looked calm, but her eyes were suddenly darting between the tiny window and the door, as if desperately seeking an escape route. She pulled herself out of the bizarre pretzel she'd twisted her body into and got to her feet, still watching the door warily. She backed up, and hesitantly, carefully, reached down and grabbed a pair of shoes, plain white tennis shoes so old and dirty that now they were a faded, dingy gray.

The shoe laces, he noticed abstractedly, sparkled like sugar crystals.

She glanced at him.

_I didn't call them, or summon them with my mind. Are they really policemen? I don't have the ability to scan the minds of others. I can only touch your mind because you are Carpathian._

Tiberiu scanned the two men standing on the other side of his lifemate's door. They were heavily shielded against mind scanning, but the Carpathian could pick up the waves of malevolence pouring off the two men outside. Immediately, his anger and the strange sense of paralysis was gone. He was at Blanche's side in a moment and had her scooped up in his arms. Determination and sheer will overrode everything else that had been in his mind. A plan was already forming in his brain.

_What do you think you're doing?! _

She shrieked it. The panic in her voice might have hurt him at another time, but not now. Now he was focused on something else, something more important. They could fight later. Now he needed to get her somewhere safe. His home, for example.

_Taking you to safety, _sivamet_. Hold on to me, _he commanded, and made his way to the door. Muttering in the ancient language, he wove a net of invisibility around them, and then unlocked the door, making sure they were standing to one side so as not to be hit when the faux policemen broke in.

The door slammed open, and Blanche watched the two strange men barge in and ransack her home. A tear trickled down her cheek.

She was supposed to have been safe in New York, that's what Cordelia had told her in the letter, but the other woman had never contacted her once Blanche arrived in the Big Apple and now… now the silently weeping woman would have to leave everything behind. She could not dance anymore – someone would recognize her and the men trying to hurt her would track her down. She couldn't stay in her tiny apartment and be safe anymore.

A second tear welled up and rolled down her cheek, dripping off of her chin to land with a tiny splash on the warrior's bare forearm. He looked down to see her wipe at her eyes briskly.

_Do not weep, _lyubof maya. _Please,_ sivamet_. Your tears will destroy me._

_You didn't seem to care about my tears when I was younger, _she muttered, averting her face from his freezing eyes like twin glaciers. After a pause, pregnant with pain on both sides, she added, _Are you related to Dimitri?_

_Dimitri?_

_He's the lifemate of one of my friends. He's already found her. You have eyes like his._

_You should not be looking at another man's eyes, _Tiberiu almost snarled. _When did you meet Dimitri? Why did he not find me when he met you? Why was he not protecting you as he should? That whelp has much to answer for. He and I will have a long talk when we return to the Carpathian Mountains._

Panic surged up inside Blanche. She couldn't leave New York City! She had to remain in hiding until all the proper arrangements could be made! Her sisters were still in the hospital! Who would take care of them, make sure they were well treated? And her brothers! They would not know where to find her! She would be too far away to help them when she finished her tasks! She wasn't going anywhere!

_No! Her heart cried out the denial._

_We will be safe in the mountains,_ Tiberiu insisted.

_I cannot leave this city, you jerk! No! I have to stay!_

_It is madness to keep you in such a dangerous place. _

Did she not see that this was the best thing to do? Why would she fight him in this? It made no sense! He had resolved when he'd seen other hunters with their women, saw how the males capitulated to their lifemates' whims when the females were asking for ridiculous and dangerous things. Tiberiu had sworn he would never be like that. He would put his lifemate's safety and health above everything else.

_You have no right to dictate to me, you arrogant creep! You lost all rights to me when you left me to be tortured as a child! You obviously didn't care then. Where do you get off trying to order me around and claiming you wish to take care of me now, now that I'm successful and don't need you anymore?_

_I do not know what you mean, he said, unruffled. You will always need me. We are lifemates._

_Let go of me, you jerk! I hate you! How dare you touch me!_

_You are acting like a child._

_Leave me alo- _

A crunching sound caught her attention, and she turned in time to see the two men destroying her spinning wheel and loom. The ballet dancer's mouth fell open in a silent gasp. Her heart squeezed in her chest, and sobs began shaking her shoulders. She cried silently, no sounds of heartbreak squeezing from between her clenched teeth. Tiberiu stared down at her, eyes wide in his face. He was unprepared for the ache in his chest at the sight of her silent, bitter tears. She was biting the knuckle of her index finger to keep from making a sound, and blood was welling up where her teeth met flesh.

_Blanche-_

_Don't call me that! Just get me out of here! Please…. _She added in a broken whisper, shuddering with the effort to keep from weeping aloud. He held her tighter, closer, aching to take away the pain in her, and stepped across the threshold and out into the hallway, out of her apartment, and out of her old life forever.

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**Author's Note:** Just some chapter formatting and spelling error correction. Oh, wow, my back hurts. I have a crap computer chair. Blah. And a little extra beef. Reviews? Pwease?


	6. Chapter Five

**Dark Tales  
Book One**

**Dark Dance**

**Chapter Five  
New York City**

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_Where did you meet Dimitri? _Tiberiu demanded of her as they raced through the night.

He had his own home here. He had to take her there. But despite the distress he could read so easily in her mind, despite the fact that he was concerned for her safety and for the chill she felt in the middle of this icy, New York December night, the Carpathian hunter couldn't stop the rising beast inside him, the black jealousy sliding through his veins. Why had she met Dimitri? When? Where? Why had Dimitri not tried to help her? What had the other hunter, his brother - his own brother! - been doing while Tiberiu's lifemate had been suffering throughout what should have been a happy, simple childhood?

_I didn't meet Dimitri,_ she said. The brunette could feel the roiling tension in the Carpathian and, against her will, automatically tried to soothe it despite the intense weight over her heart. _I saw him in a vision._

_I beg your pardon? _He asked, faltering for the first time in over a thousand years.

His lifemate… she had had a vision of another man? How could this have happened? Was he wrong? Was this instead his brother Dimitri's lifemate? Did Blanche not belong to him as he had thought?

Blanche looked up, at the harsh planes of Tiberiu's face. His black hair fanned out behind him on the wind like strands of ebony silk. His face was set in a cruel, ruthless mask, his black eyes glittering, tiny pinpricks of red in their depths. She knew what that meant - the beast in him, the demon, was near to the surface. But she could also feel his pain, the depths of his anguish. Despite her own grief, she tried to touch his mind, moving hesitantly, like the tiniest ripple of water across a lake. Her touch was light as a feather, and she found herself inside his head. She saw his thoughts, felt his grief, his self-loathing, his reproach of himself for not having found her sooner. She also could see that he was beginning to believe her not his lifemate, but the other half of Dimitri Bercovitz, of all people. Why would he think that? She knew for a fact that Skyler was Dimitri's lifemate. She had seen it in her vision. So why would Tiberiu think she wasn't his?

Did it matter?

She asked herself this ruthlessly, ignoring the pang in her chest that the thought created. She didn't want to be a lifemate to anyone. She couldn't be a lifemate to this man. She knew from Cordelia that a Carpathian male was dominating, terrifying, possessive. She had no reason to doubt the stories the other girl had told Blanche and the other terrified child slaves all those years ago. Cordelia had seemed to possess a strange knowledge none of the other girls, even with their powerful psychic gifts, could account for.

And Blanche knew, knew in her heart, that she could never survive being held captive by this great Carpathian warrior.

She'd rather die.

_Why are you distressed, _lyubof maya_?_

_What does that mean? _She asked instead of telling him the answer. The secret of her work was one she would never tell another living soul. She couldn't. If the magic was to work, and her siblings saved, she could tell no one what she was doing. They could guess, or find out from someone who had guessed, but she could say nothing. _That's the second time you've called me _lyubof maya_. What does it mean?_

_It means "my love," _he murmured in her mind as they alighted upon the balcony outside the master bedroom of his home.

She didn't seem surprised to find herself here. She seemed, in fact, completely relaxed, save for the roiling turmoil in her mind, the sadness and the hurt. Her pain was like a great stone pressing on his heart. Why was she not happy to be with him? He was her lifemate! Surely any wrong he had done her, she would forgive. Surely she did not hate him so terribly that she would sentence him to a fate worse than death. Losing his soul, becoming vampire, forcing his brothers to hunt him down like the beast he will have become… would she inflict that upon him?

Blanche heard his thoughts, saw the way he turned her rejection of him back on her, and pain lanced through her chest, hurt swiftly followed by anger. In her life, Amaranth's advice had often held true, and the one piece the dancer always followed was, "Don't cry, and don't get scared. Get angry."

_Don't call me your anything, _she snapped. As soon as his feet touched the concrete floor of the balcony, she shoved out of his arms and staggered away from him. Her legs were screaming at her to lie down, to take a hot shower, let the pounding spray beat out the aches and bruises from rehearsal. Her thighs burned from the rigorous exercise she'd inflicted previously.

Her knees wobbled, and she almost fell.

Instantly, Tiberiu was by her side, supporting her small form, all concern and Old World elegance.

"You are hurt," he reminded her gently, reproof obvious in his voice.

She jerked away from him.

_How dare you touch me! _She cried, glaring at him. Her skin tingled where his hands had been. Silently, she cursed him. Heat rushed into her face. Her hear rebelled at her for shrieking this at him, but her grief ruthlessly shoved any tender emotions aside.

He looked into her golden brown eyes, saw tears swimming in their depths. There was rage, hurt, confusion, grief, all of it etched into her face, glimmering in her eyes. It was obvious in the tremble of her lip and the quiver of her chin as she struggled not to cry.

_You ruined it!_ She yelled at him, the force of her mental shout making his head buzz with the beginning of a headache. He pushed the pain ruthlessly aside. She was upset. He wanted to know why.

"What did I ruin?" He asked her gently. He reached out to her, but she backed away against the glass doors leading into the house. She bit the knuckle of her index finger, averting her gaze. He could tell the pain from her teeth in her flesh was helping her to beat back the rampaging emotions. "Tell me, Blanche-"

_My name is Jenny, you jerk, _she snapped, then added deliberately, _Only people I care about are allowed to call me Blanche._ Part of her felt ashamed at being so cruel to him. He hadn't known what he was doing, of course he hadn't, how could he? But the part of her that had remained silent for all those years, the part of her that labored to free her brothers and sisters, that knew the night that currently flew by ensured even more years of bondage... that part of her felt a blazing despair that threatened to engulf her. And she wanted Tiberiu to feel that same despair because it was his fault.

The reminder that she cared nothing for him, that she wanted nothing to do with him, was like a slap in the face. He stilled, waited for the rage and hurt in himself to subside enough that he could speak calmly. He did not want to frighten her. She was so skittish, so opposed to being with him already. It wouldn't do to give her more reasons to want to leave him. Instead, he would be gentle, cautious, kind. Treat her like the timid wild thing she was. But her tears were like knives to his heart, though she had forbidden any of the jewel like drops to fall just yet. He wanted to take away her grief, take away the tears swimming in those big, liquid gold eyes.

"Jenny," he said gently. "Tell me what it is I have done. Why do you weep? What has distressed you so? I cannot help you if you do not tell me-"

_Shut up! Don't talk to me like I'm some kind of hysterical female! There's nothing wrong with me! I have every right to be upset with you! Leave me alone! You destroyed everything! You didn't even give me a chance to… I hate you! You ruined it, you ruined everything…._

Now she sobbed, but silently, tears coursing down her face, her mouth twisted with the immense sorrow beating at her.

He thrust himself into her mind, desperate to find out why she was so distressed, what he could do. He was her lifemate. It was to his shame if he could not rectify whatever mistake he had made. So he plunged into her mind, making his presence obvious. He knew the moment she sensed him in her head, knew the very second she began trying to push him out. It did not matter. He would do this for her. He had to know what he had done. Was it truly so terrible? How had he made her feel this way?

And he saw it, even as she shoved at his presence inside her mind, raged at him to get out. His heart cracked in his chest as he saw the awful thing which he had done.

She was a craftsman, as well as being a dancer. Her art was in spinning, weaving, sewing. And she had mage blood, though she knew nothing of mages, only Carpathians. He was surprised she even knew that. But because of her mage blood, she could instinctively manipulate the energy with which spells and safeguards were woven. She did this much as many of those Carpathians who worked with stained glass or quilts did - by putting safeguards and spells into the pieces she created.

And in her tiny apartment were two shirts, woven with the fibers of a special plant called starwort. And those shirts held her most powerful spells, the strongest magic she had ever wrought. It had taken her months and months for each shirt - this was why the magic was so powerful. She needed them for her brothers, to help her brothers regain their true forms. Someone had captured them in the forms of great, white swans, broken their wings and drained their blood, kept them powerless. The two stronger mages in her family, Odette and Ebony, her sisters, were comatose in a hospital in New York.

She thought it was all up to her.

_Oh, no, _sivamet_, _he murmured, and felt her go still. _Jenny, I will help you. I will go back for the shirts, I promise, as well as your tools. Forgive me, _csitri_, I did not know. Forgive me. Confide in me, confide all things, and I will help you with anything you ask of me, _sivamet_. Do not doubt me. Lifemates cannot lie to each other._

She looked up at him through the curtain of her loose, dark brown hair, scrubbing ineffectually at her face. Was it really that easy? Could she just ask for Tiberiu's help? Cordelia had said a Carpathian loved his lifemate, would lay down his life for her. Why then was she so surprised that Tiberiu would do so?

But… but it was so hard to trust him. She didn't think she could just break down all of her walls and let him take over her life.

_I do not wish to, _lyubof maya_. I wish only for you to be safe and happy. I will aid you in this because you are my lifemate, and it is important to you. I can do no other._

Blanche shivered, and suddenly exhaustion swept over her. She didn't want to fight anymore, she only wanted to sleep. It was past midnight, and she had been up since four in the morning. She was so very tired. She simply wanted to sleep. She stared up at Tiberiu, who lifted her into his arms. This time, she didn't fight. She was too tired, and too stunned by what he'd said. Could she get help saving her brothers? From someone so strong and powerful as the Carpathian hunter that cradled her in his arms?

_Fear not, Blanche, _he whispered soothingly in her mind. She did not correct him this time, only let her head fall against his chest as weariness beat at her. _I will help you._

_Why? _She whispered. Tears burned her eyes. Would he really help her? Suddenly she felt ashamed at how shrewish she'd been to him already. All she'd had to do was ask. But she was so unused to receiving help that she didn't bother to ask for it anymore. _Why do you care?_

_You're my lifemate, _he told her gently.

He waved a hand in a complicated, intricate pattern, and the doors to the balcony opened to admit them into the master bedroom. It was more like a suite, he reflected, as they entered the little parlor attached to the bedroom itself. He crossed the tiny room in a few, short strides and took her into the sleeping chamber. This one night, he would sleep in the manner of humans. He wanted to lay beside her and feel her close to him, her heart beating against him.

_Cordelia never really explained it very well, _she mumbled sleepily._ What does that mean, exactly? What is a lifemate exactly?_

She sighed softly when he laid her down on the great, king-sized bed and knelt down on the floor beside her. He wanted to look at her feet - he had smelled blood, seen it seeping into the silk of her slippers. When he pulled off the slippers, he couldn't help wincing in sympathy. Her feet were not too badly blistered, but what blisters there were had begun bleeding. She had one on the top of her foot that was dark red, full of blood. When he touched it gentle with a fingertip, she pulled her foot away.

_Ow. Stop that._

_That wound is infected, _Tiberiu told her gently. He felt her dismissal in his mind. _Allow me to heal you before it grows worse. It will keep you from dancing if it becomes much worse._

_As if you care about my dancing, _she replied with some of the old aggression. _But fine,_ she added tiredly. He could sense her sudden penitence as she gave her foot back. _If it's so important to you, then go ahead._

She knew that Cordelia and Amaranth would have said she was being an ungrateful brat, but she hated to rely on anyone. After the group had been split up, she's been virtually alone. It was difficult to allow herself to depend on Tiberiu - anyone, really - for anything. And it wasn't as if she could continue dancing now. Not after being found by the organization. So if both her legs were hacked off by machete wielding zombies, it wouldn't matter to her. Dancing, her life, her passion, her love, was a dream shattered by circumstance. She was forbidden the stage for her own safety.

Exhausted as she was, preoccupied with her thoughts, she didn't realize the healing was over until Tiberiu settled into bed beside her. His arm, lean and corded with muscle, slipped around her waist. Her heart flipped over.

_Sleep now, _sivamet_. You are tired, I can feel it. Your weariness beats at me. Rest. We have all eternity to work out our differences, and you are too tired this night to work your magic now. Sleep, and all will be well._

_But the shirts! My thread, my cloth, my needles. I need them._

Tiberiu hesitated. He did not wish to leave her side until she slept peacefully, for once comfortably, behind his safeguards. But she would be unhappy if he waited over long. She would not care that he wished to see her sleep. She would weep if the tools of her magic were lost. He ought to get them for her.

_Tiberiu Bercovitz?_

The Carpathian didn't allow his surprise to show as he reached out to that familiar, tentative mind touch.

_Aye. Who is this?_

_Do you not recognize your old friend? It is I, Julian._

Elation erupted in Tiberiu's chest. He, Dimitri, and Julian had long ago been childhood friends. Unable to feel emotion during these long, long years of emptiness, it was a wondrous gift to be able to hear the other warrior's voice, feel the comradeship that had faded away as emotions had faded, too. And now he had a solution to both problems. If Julian could be trusted, that was. But he, like Tiberiu, had a lifemate, and was therefore incapable of becoming vampire.

_Julian Savage. _There was warmth, camaraderie, affection in Tiberiu's voice when he said the other man's name. _It has been too long._

_You have found your lifemate? _Julian asked.

_Yes, a wonderful woman named Bl- Jennifer._

_You were about to say another name._

_She prefers the name Blanche. A childhood nickname._

_You are distressed for her, _Julian said, concerned. _Have you need of me? Or another warrior of our kind? My lifemate Desari and her family are here in New York City. Would you have us come to you?_

_No, _Tiberiu replied, stroking Blanche's thick, dark hair. She was already beginning to drift off, fighting to stay awake, to tell the Carpathian to go, to bring back the magical items she had been forced to leave behind._ I would ask you to retrieve something for me. I do not wish to leave my lifemate's side. She was attacked this night. I would stay to protect her, but in my haste to bring her out of danger, I left something she holds of value behind in her apartment. _He showed them the way to get there, and what it was he needed_. Would you do this favor for me?_

_Of course, my old friend, _Julian murmured. _And I'm sure that, come tomorrow, Desari and I would love to meet your lifemate._

_Thank you, Julian, _he said, and broke the contact. He told Blanche what had happened. He wasn't sure how much she understood, but she relaxed and mumbled her thanks, fell into slumber, and he knew peace for the first time in centuries.

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**Author's Note:** Woot! Longest chapter yet. Who likes? So, yes, I made Dimitri and Tiberiu brothers because I felt like it. I had no idea what Dimitri's last name was and it was driving me crazy. So that's why I did that. So, reviews?


	7. Chapter Six

**Dark Tales  
Book One**

**Dark Dance**

**Chapter Six  
New York City**

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Blanche awoke to the chirping of crickets. As her eyes fluttered open, she noticed two things: from the stale, thick taste in her mouth, she knew that though it was night, it was not the same night as the one on which she'd fallen asleep; and the second was that Tiberiu was not only absent from the bed where they'd both fallen asleep, but that he was absent from the building. Sitting up gingerly, her eyes raked the unfamiliar bedroom. Where was he? The Carpathian must have vanished while she was asleep. Hadn't Cordelia said something once about the Carpathians sleeping beneath the earth during the day? They were like vampires, sort of, weren't they?

_Where are you? She called softly, pushing a little with her mind. The space between her eyes began to itch and the back of her neck tensed. A knot began forming at her nape._

_Do not fret, cistri, the reply came immediately, his voice warm and velvet soft. A curl of heat whispered against the inside of her belly. I will be there shortly. I only need to feed. You are skittish as a wild horse, and I do not wish to frighten you further. If you look in the attached room, you will find your weaving and other things. My friend, Julian Savage, was kind enough to deliver them._

She was off like a shot into the next room. Her cold feet skittered over the icy floor as she raced into the adjoining room. Her eyes alighted on the new wall loom, shiny as a new penny with a fresh coat of varnish on the wood, and the spinning wheel, the same type of wood and the same brilliant sheen. The shirts she'd made – only two – for her brothers were in a basket beside the spinning wheel. Her hand loom was there, her baskets of starwort, and her skeins of silk, yarn, embroidery floss, fake silk – they were all there.

A tear rolled down her cheek as a wave of gratitude and relief welled up in her chest, threatening to choke her with its magnitude.

_Thank you, she whispered. Oh, Tiberiu, thank you so much._

_You are most welcome, sivamet. I will return very soon. Perhaps you might finish spinning what you had begun on your wheel?_

_Yes, Blanche replied, absently, mind already turning to the task at hand. Yes, of course. Then, again, Thank you, Tiberiu._

_._

"Thank you, Julian Savage," Tiberiu told the golden-haired warrior, grasping his forearms in the traditional way. "She was most grateful." He couldn't stop himself from grinning. He'd only known his lifemate for a day and two nights – barely – but in that time he had never seen her as happy as when she'd seen the new loom and spinning wheel, and the retrieved items. "I cannot express what this means."

"I know what the joy of a lifemate means to a Carpathian male. My own, Desari... I cannot bear to see her truly unhappy. I understand, Tiberiu. And I am happy that the two of you have found each other."

"Thank you, again, my friend," the blue-eyed hunter replied, and started to turn away when a thought stopped him, and he turned back to Julian. "My brother, Dimitri... is it true that he has found his lifemate?"

"Yes, but... but how did you know?"

"My lifemate knew. She says that she knows Dimitri's lifemate. That she saw my brother in a vision. I wanted to be certain that she was not mistaken. I am... happy for my brother. Well... I shall be on my way, then."

And he left to go back to Blanche.

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**Author's Note:** So I haven't updated anything, really, in forever and ever. I spent the last four months of 2009 and the first 3 months of 2010 getting all my chapters set up so that I could post things up regularly. So there you go – hopefully, regular postings and updates and such. I'm going for once every two weeks to once a month. So that's... 26 chapters this year, I hope. Minimum. Okay?


	8. Chapter Seven

**Dark Tales  
Book One**

**Dark Dance**

**Chapter Eight  
Paris**

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Dinner was, of course, a very strange affair.

It didn't help matters that neither Francesca, nor Gabriel, nor Dimitri actually needed real food. It was only she, Skyler, who had to sit at the table and do her best to sip at the warm, vegetable soup that their housekeeper had made. The soup wasn't bad, but the rich scent of cooked carrots and celery made the young woman's stomach rebel instantly. Only with the most intense concentration did she manage to take in a few spoonfuls.

Being only a quarter human had its disadvantages, the girl thought to herself, and rubbed her wrist against her knee. She kept the movement under the table, where her parents and supposed lifemate couldn't see. They would assume it was something about her past as a Dragonseeker that made her wrist ache, but that wasn't it.

_Amaranth,_ Skyler thought suddenly. _What happened to you?_

What had happened to Amaranth and Cordelia and the others? Had she ever been told by the people at the hospital? She didn't think Bryce or anyone had told her. She'd forgotten them by the time her mother had come and rescued her from that place. Why were the memories returning now? She pressed a hand to her forehead when pain lanced behind her eyes. Why did trying to remember her old prisoners-in-arms make her head hurt?

"Skyler?" Francesca called her name, her voice tight with concern. "Gabriel, she's in pain," Skyler's mother added, and Gabriel was by her side in an instant, his large hands on her shoulders. Warmth radiated outward into her tight muscles, and the young woman immediately relaxed, though the pain continued.

"What happened, Skyler? You do not usually get headaches," Gabriel said.

"I... I was trying to remember something... but it's gone. Trying made my head hurt. It's all right. I'm fine," she fibbed gently. For the most part, it was the truth, but the pain still resided behind her eyes, waiting for her to try and remember the girls from her past again so that it could flare up and hurt her.

_Lyubof maya,_ Dimitri's gentle, husky voice breathed inside her mind, and Skyler shivered. Her heart slammed against her ribs. _Do not attempt to deceive me or your father. The pain remains._

Skyler scowled at him. Didn't she get to have any secrets?

_No, little Skyler, you do not,_ Dimitri informed her, his mental laughter making Skyler roll her eyes so hard she nearly fell out of her chair. That only made him laugh harder. _You should have more respect for your lifemate._

_I don't even respect my parents,_ she lied, grinning despite herself. A curious warmth was spreading through her chest and the headache was slowly fading away into nothing. _You're expecting too much if you think I'm going to bow and scrape and serve just because you say so, Dimitri._

"The headache's gone," Skyler told her concerned parents. "Honestly."

"Have you been having pain lately?" Francesca asked, nibbling her lower lip. She hastily scanned her daughter for anything dangerous - parasites, cancerous growths, brain bruises, anything - but found nothing. Her concern rising, the Carpathian woman mentally ordered Gabriel to scan the young girl also. The hunter was already doing so, but he found nothing.

"No, just... flashbacks. Sort of. Before you found me, but after I escaped Razvan. I don't even remember Razvan or anything before my... from before. But sometimes I'll find myself thinking about things I haven't remembered in a long time."

"Such as?" Gabriel prompted when his daughter fell silent.

Dimitri said nothing, only watched with his icy wolf eyes as his young lifemate rubbed her wrist and frowned down at her lap. He could feel her trying to gather her thoughts, trying to think of how best to explain what had been happening to her. Something inside the Carpathian hunter told him that what she was about to say was connected to him in some way, though he had no clue as to how. So the hunter kept silent, observing, his mind trained on the young woman across from him.

"My... my friends," she confessed, and immediately felt a weight she hadn't even known was there life from her shoulders. "There were other girls... we helped each other. Amaranth... and Cordelia... they were the leaders. They looked after all of us."

Skyler allowed her mind to project images of the remembered girls: Amaranth, with her river of shining silver hair and her plans of escape, so outrageous but so full of hope; with her blue eyes like the water in a swimming pool but full of fire and rage, and her mind full of machinations; the scars through both eyebrows, bronze trenches through tiny banks of silvery gold hairs, as if her gaze had been attacked by thorns. And Cordelia, dark-haired, gray eyed, elf-like, and violent as hell, with her pointed chin and pointed nose and high cheekbones; her words like arrows, her tongue as sharp as a knife; the leader of them all, the one who would do anything in her power to protect them all, even though there wasn't much she could do.

There were others, Skyler knew, but all she had for them were names, no faces: Alicia Little, Wendy Hart, Lacy Graye and her sister, Kaye, and Pearl... little Pearl Waverly....

"Pearl Waverly?" Dimitri demanded suddenly, the shock contorting his face. His ice eyes thawed a little. The young woman who he claimed was his lifemate stared at him, confused, and lost the train of names that had run through her mind.

"Yes," she said slowly, uncertainly. "She died... I remember...."

"No, she did not," the Carpathian informed her. "She lives on my wolf preserve with her three sisters. Jade, her sister, works for me. She is my secretary. Jade, Pearl, Sapphire, and Emerald all live on the preserve. Even their brother, Sheldon. Pearl is alive, Skyler."

She didn't doubt Dimitri, not for an instant. She couldn't.

He would never lie to her.

A surge of some unidentifiable emotion rose in the blond girl's heart. So she wasn't the only one to survive. Others might still be out there. Pearl was alive, somehow, beyond all hope and reason. Little Pearl, who refused to speak and had such beautiful, midnight blue eyes... she was alive and whole, and reunited with her sisters. And Skyler knew Alicia was with her family. What of the others? Could they have survived all this time as well? Were they, perhaps, with loving families like she was?

Could they be the potential lifemates of other Carpathian males?

Skyler shoved back her hair and tried not to let herself be overwhelmed by all the thoughts rushing through her head. If her friends were still alive... perhaps they could somehow be reunited. A thrill of longing shot through her.

Yes, reunited... yes.

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**Author's Note:** _hola, everyone. So here's an update of Dark Dance. I didn't want to leave the Pearl connection unvoiced for very long because I figured if Skyler found out about it too late, she'd think Dimitri was keeping it from her on purpose. So now that's out there. But anyway, so here's chapter eight. How do you guys like it? We'll get back to Tiberiu and Jenny next chap, but I didn't want to ignore our Little Red Riding Hood and Wolf._

_Reviews rock my socks. Yay!_


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